


Ink

by Corvid_Knight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tattoos, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art, relationships, they're in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 04:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: John and Dave get tattoos I guess? It's soft and they're in love.





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloosie/gifts).



> Happy birthday!

Dave's the one who wakes up first when the alarm goes off. He always is; you'd sleep through the thing if left to yourself, but the absence of his warmth as he sits up to grab for the clock wakes you more effectively than any noise. 

You're still slow, though. By the time you rub your eyes clear, Dave's puzzled out how to stop the alarm (which is a struggle every single morning as he hits every button on the clock before he finds the one that'll get it to stop screaming; his ineptitude in the couple minutes after he first wakes up is nothing short of adorable to you) and is grinning down at you, holding out your glasses. 

"Thanks." Your mumble's barely intelligible even to you, but he nods anyway, pulling you over into his lap as you put your glasses on. 

"You know what day it is, right?" he asks, running one hand through your hair and leaning back as you curl against his chest. 

"Mm." No, apparently you don't. "Wednesday?" 

That surprises him into a half-choked laugh, and you can feel him quivering with the struggle to hold more laughter back. " _Tuesday._ Tuesday, John." 

"Oh?" You want to hear that laugh. He doesn't get to hide that from you, even if he's going to try. Getting him to stop holding it off is as easy as squirming around to press a series of light, tickling kisses from his jawline to his collarbone, and that's exactly what you do. 

It takes only a minute for you to reduce him to a giggling mess, shoving ineffectually at your shoulders and slumping down to lie flat with you stretched out on his chest. You don't stop kissing until he shakes his head and holds up his hands in surrender. That takes awhile—Dave loves this kind of attention from you. 

You give him a minute to stop laughing and get control of himself before you scoot up to give him a quick kiss on the lips, and ask, "So, what am I forgetting? Other than the actual date. I'm guessing you had something more in mind than 'Tuesday,' right?" 

"Mhm." He makes a pleased sound at the kiss, blinking up at you. God, those beautiful red eyes make you want to kiss him again, not stop kissing him for a few hours or days or weeks. "Something we planned out, remember?"

You must look as blank as you feel, because Dave snorts after a second and pulls you back down for another kiss, wrapping his arms around you as you cuddle up to him. "You're a doofus," he tells you, robbing the statement of any theoretical weight it might have carried by kissing the top of your head. "A sweet, forgetful babe." 

"Shut _up._.." From his chuckle, that wasn't any more threatening. "I just woke up, cut me some slack." 

"Never." God, what did you to deserve so many kisses this early? If the day keeps going on the same way it's starting, it might just take the medal of best day ever. "We gotta get up in a minute, babe, or we're gonna be late, though." 

"I still don't know what I'm going to be late _for,_ Dave." 

He pushes you away enough to give you a mock-disapproving glare, rolling his eyes. "Shame on you, John. You _forgot_ that we're supposed to go get ink in..." A glance away from you, at the clock. "Hour and a half. Okay, so we got a lil' more time than I thought." 

" _Oh._ " You actually can't believe you forgot that. "Okay, shame on me, definitely." 

Something about your expression makes Dave frown, and he reaches up to cup your face in his hands. "...you sure you're okay with it, though? We can still cancel, I know this shit's permanent—" 

"Oh my god, Dave, it better be!" His eyes widen as you dive down to attack him with more smooches, but he doesn't take his hands off your face even as he laughs and tries to return the kisses. "It _better_ be permanent, that's the _point,_ because _you're_ permanent for me, you idiot—" 

"Okay, okay, I get it—we're doing this, I get it, we're making it happen." He grins up at you as you prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at him. "Gotta get off me and get dressed now, though." 

_Holy fuck how can you love someone this much?_

You kiss him again, longer and deeper this time, and nod, rolling off him and getting out of bed. "Yep." 

______________________________________________________

You get there early, which is good because Dave wants to argue with you that his should be blue to match your eyes instead of black like you agreed on. That takes a good ten minutes to resolve, and is ended by your pointing out that you're _not_ getting a blue one, not for your first time, and he needs to match. That's kind of the point. 

The process itself doesn't hurt as much as you half-expected it to, either. The only bad moment is halfway through, when Dave gets quiet and you look over and realize he's on the edge of a panic attack for one reason or another, face white and stiff and hands gripping the padded arms of his chair tighter than he needs to. Maybe he could've rode it out by himself, but no way are you making him do that—you ask the artist if he could stop for a second, get out of the chair and kneel in front of Dave. 

The other artist stops when you come over, glancing between you and Dave and opening his mouth, probably to ask if everything's all right. You shake your head at him as you take Dave's hands, though, and he doesn't say anything. 

"Dave?" He isn't looking at you, but he does nod a little when you say his name. "Dave. C'mon, Dave. It's okay. You're going to be okay—look at me, all right?" 

It takes him a minute. 

"Are you okay?" He nods, but that's not enough. "Dave. We have time. It's okay." 

You keep coaxing and talking to him, ignoring the artist so that Dave won't look and start worrying about holding things up. It's maybe five minutes before your question about whether he's okay yet gets both a nod _and_ a audible answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm okay. Sorry." 

"You don't have to be." He smiles when you kiss his forehead, relaxing as you go back to sit in your chair and apologize quietly to the guy working on you. 

(He just grins and nods and goes back to your shoulder. Maybe Dave's reaction isn't exactly an uncommon one.)

After that it's fine. Maybe half an hour later, you're walking out the door with Dave, taking his hand and holding it up to your shoulder. 

He got his tattoo on the back of his wrist, where he could theoretically cover it up with a wristband but it's visible even with the long sleeve he always wear, your name in your handwriting and half a heart. The other half's on your shoulder, just a little below the bottom of your t-shirt's sleeve along with his name. It's not in the messy printing he usually writes in, but a beautiful script that you're not even sure how he produced with a ballpoint pen. 

Dave ghosts his fingers across the second half of _Strider,_ lightly enough that it doesn't sting, and smiles at you. "Good?" he asks, and you nod. 

"Amazing. Just like you are."


End file.
